The Veteran

January 25, 2012
Am I who you think I am?
The scars on my skin and the pride in my eyes?
Some call it a scam.
Or is it just my disguise?
The red and black,
Black and blue,
It takes me back,
Those moments hold true.

Are you who you say you are?
Do you heal me with my broken limbs?
Seal my cuts and all that they mar?
Or fix my mind as the reminder dims.
Always triggers in my thoughts,
Pulling triggers and gunshots.
Continuous and forced,
Rummaged and lost,
The violence coerced,
A tragedy, a cost.

Do we live as we say we do?
As happy and whole as the day we left.
Are we satisfied or do we rue?
Boneless and bloodless, completely bereft.
Some fight to repent for their sins.
A need so great, a gift so rare,
Wiping the dirt and the mud from their shins.
Grimacing from, the burdens they bare.
Crafted from the lives of those demolished
We build immunity from sorrow,
But on the surface we’re polished,
Our visage aglow.
Only the ones who endured can say straight,
Affected and reshaped, we’ve come home irate.

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